


Don't Be Scared, It's Only Love That We're Falling In

by OutoftheBlueDreamer



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has Chronic Pain (Good Omens), Crowley Has PTSD (Good Omens), Crowley's Fall (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-07-29 03:44:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20075590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutoftheBlueDreamer/pseuds/OutoftheBlueDreamer
Summary: Crowley never forgets the feeling of Falling. Neither his mind nor body allow as much.In which Crowley hides his inner turmoil from Aziraphale for 6,000 years, until he makes the mistake of inviting the angel to spend the night after the Armageddon-that-wasn't.





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! This fic has been in the works for weeks now and I've only just decided to start posting it. I've never posted any of my work before so comments/feedback would be much appreciated! (Please be nice though).  
This is, in fact, the shortest chapter by a long-shot, but I promise it's worth waiting around for the rest of it!
> 
> Forever major thanks to Gwen for beta-ing, extensively editing, and motivating me to actually sit down and write one of my many ideas. Extra special thanks for her encouragement and reassurance that my writing is decent enough to share.

They say it’s not the fall that kills you, but rather the landing. But whichever of physics’ greatest minds thought up that particular speck of knowledge had never truly Fallen. Not from Heaven at least, and most certainly not all the way to Hell. The same could not be said for Crowley, however, who didn’t necessarily fall so much as saunter vaguely downwards.

You see, he didn’t mean to Fall, he simply asked too many questions, and if there’s one thing that the Almighty does not appreciate, it is a lack of faith. Sure, there were always threats to be made about what could happen if an angel’s faith or loyalty wavered, but the threats seemed empty–that is, until they weren’t. 

The Fall was infinitely worse than any angel had dared imagine and far longer too. As he tumbled through the vacuum of time and space between Heaven and Hell, he imagined that no final destination could be worse than the journey itself. Panic rose in his chest as he descended in full freefall, wings fluttering around him uselessly, unable to slow his descent as feathers were ripped and burned away through sheer force. The smell of singed hair and flesh pervaded the air around him, the scent just as strong and vivid as the searing pain firing through every cell of his being. With eyes screwed shut and head thrown back, all he could do was scream until his voice gave out. And not long thereafter, it all went black.

The next time the fallen angel came to, the first thing he noticed was the never-ending ache that seemed to encapsulate him. Everything was stiff and sore, like he’d been bowled over by a train, or rather like he made a million lightyear freestyle dive into a pool of boiling sulfur. Either way the feeling was wholly horrible. However, it paled in comparison to his next realization. 

When he finally worked up the nerve to roll onto his side from where he had been lying face-down in the mud, he felt his chest seize once more as he glanced himself over to assess the damage. It wasn’t the poor state of his robes or even the tattered remains of his wings that had panic crashing over him like waves against the shore. No, it was the fact that he couldn’t see them. He couldn’t see anything for that matter, everything was still black and no matter how much he flailed about and no matter which way he turned, the darkness never changed.

Some time later–whether it was minutes, hours, or days, he truly wasn’t sure–he chanced cracking his eyes open again and this time, to his relief, he saw more than just the pitch black that had previously surrounded him. Things were still a bit blurred, but everything was already infinitely brighter. Just as he was letting his eyes close again in an effort to shut out the influx of sensory input, a shadow crossed over him. Before he could even hazard a cry of protest, a number of hands grabbed him and wrenched him to his feet, dragging him off down a dingy hall to go meet his new boss.


	2. The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crawly finds his new form as a serpent on Earth to be rather disappointing and makes adjustments accordingly to attract the attention of one particular angel.

The new assignment on the surface was exciting, even if Crawly wasn’t entirely sure he was ready. Things were off to an excellent start once he discovered just how naive these new creatures were. Just one little temptation was all it took to convince her to taste the apple, and if the snake was being honest with himself, it was barely a temptation and closer to a friendly suggestion. Still, Hell decided he’d been successful enough to leave him on the surface assignment, at least for the time being. 

For this Crawly was grateful, though he had a couple issues with the whole set up. Namely, he wasn’t a big fan of the form he was assigned. All the slithering about just seemed inefficient, and if there was one thing Crawly appreciated it was efficiency. Yes, legs would be in order if he were to continue on this particular assignment, he mused to himself. Perhaps he could adopt a form like that of the humans. Surely Hell wouldn’t mind him blending in a bit more for future endeavors. After all, there’s only so many creatures to tempt in the Garden, and humans were simply the easiest and most valuable targets. 

He carefully considered what a human form would require as he slithered along the Garden floor, quickly approaching the East Wall. It seemed relatively straight forward really, two legs and two arms and standing upright, shouldn’t be too difficult. It was then that his silent musings were interrupted by the patter of bare feet pacing on stone. Ah, yes, there stood the solution to his other qualm with his position. It was quite a lonely gig being immortal, or at least it seemed it would be given time. Luckily the Other Side seems to have had a similar thought in keeping a guard to watch over the Earth, and their guard (or guardian as the case may be) was several stories directly above Crawly, pacing along the top of the wall.

After a mere moment’s hesitation, he decided to investigate what exactly the angel of the Eastern Gate was up to. After all, it couldn’t hurt to get a sense of what the Other Side was planning. He slithered up beside the angel and started shifting forms as he came to a stop beside the blond. At the last moment, he conjured up a set of wings. Not his own wings of course, as those were still in agony in the aftermath of Falling and the mere thought of unfurling them had him wincing. No, they may not have been his wings, but they sure looked the part, each longer than he was tall and full of ashen grey and black feathers. Crawly was quite proud of how convincing they were, considering he had willed them into existence. They did, in fact, mirror what his wings once were and so long as no one looked too carefully then there was no reason for anyone to suspect they were merely an illusion. 

Looking out onto the horizon at the retreating forms of Adam and Eve, he found himself sidestepping closer to his angelic counterpart. 

“Well, that went down like a lead balloon,” he mumbled as he glanced over at the blindingly blond figure next to him. 

The angel Aziraphale gave a soft chuckle before catching himself and turning to look at the demon now standing next to him. “I’m sorry, what was that?” he queried, not entirely catching Crawly’s remark.

Crawly turned towards Aziraphale more directly this time and repeated, “I said, ‘Well, that went down like a lead balloon.’”

“Oh, yes. Yes, it did, rather,” the angel sputtered as he looked back out at the horizon.

“Bit of an overreaction, if you ask me,” Crawly pondered aloud. “First offence and everything…” He gave a little shrug and paused before continuing, “I can’t see what’s so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil anyway.”

Crawly had to swallow back his amusement when he saw how perplexed Aziraphale was at his claim. “Well, it must _ be _ bad…” he trailed off with a faint frown. The extended pause that followed caused Crawly to look up at the angel, whom he found staring back at him rather expectantly. It was in that moment that Crawly realized that they hadn’t properly introduced themselves yet.

“Crawly,” the demon supplied with a tight smile, trying to suppress his distaste for the rather demeaning title.

“-Crawly,” Aziraphale nodded before continuing, “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.”

Crawly scoffed and shifted his weight from one foot to another, still trying to adjust to the humanoid form. After all, there were few things humans had in common with snakes when it came to anatomy. The whole concept of hips alone could have Crawly droning on for hours on end.1 It’s best not to even get him started on how ridiculously unnecessary toes are.

“Oh, they just said, ‘Get up there and make some trouble.’”

“Well, obviously. You’re a demon. It’s what you do,” the angel retorted with disdain.

“Not very subtle of the Almighty, though. Fruit tree in the middle of a garden with a “Don’t Touch” sign,” the demon fussed. “I mean, why not put it on the top of a high mountain? Or on the moon?” _ Yes, the moon would have been a lovely alternative _, thought Crawly, who had always had a deep affection for outer space.

Aziraphale looked uncomfortable as he considered the implications of Crawly’s train of thought and did his best to ignore the demon’s suggestions. However, such a task became infinitely more difficult when Crawly continued his thought with a sideways glance at Aziraphale, “Makes you wonder what God’s really planning.”

The flicker of disgust that made its way across Aziraphale’s face did not go unnoticed as he regarded Crawly’s frankly blasphemous suggestion. “Best not to speculate,” he said evenly. “It’s all part of the Great Plan. It’s not for us to understand. It’s ineffable.”

“The Great Plan’s ineffable?” Crawly eyed the angel incredulously.

“Exactly. It is beyond understanding and incapable of being put into words,” Aziraphale clarified a bit pompously, looking quite proud of himself.

As soon as the words left his mouth, Crawly was pestering him with another, er, minor issue. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” the demon queried as he looked over Aziraphale in confusion.

The angel straightened and looked away, gaze falling anywhere but on Crawly as he stammered, “Uh, well…”

“You did! It was flaming like anything. What happened to it?” 

Aziraphale made some noncommittal noises and glanced around a bit anxiously.

“Lost it already, have you?” Crawly drawled, clearly unimpressed.

The angel looked out over the wall and murmured under his breath, “Gave it away…”

“You what?!” Crawly’s eyes went wide as he stared at Aziraphale in shock, suddenly considerably more interested.

“I gave it away,” Aziraphale wailed, looking rather distraught. “There are vicious animals. It’s going to be cold out there. And she’s expecting already,” the angel defended. “And I said, ‘Here you go. Flaming sword. Don’t thank me. And don’t let the sun go down on you here.’”

Crawly stared in awe as Aziraphale continued to fret, “I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.”

“Oh, you’re an angel,” Crawly scoffed. “I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.”

“Oh. Oh, thank-- Thank you. It’s, it’s been bothering me,” the blond admitted, looking incredibly relieved and breaking into a soft grin.

The two of them looked out into the desert where Adam was now fending off a lion with Aziraphale’s flaming sword. Crawly paused before speaking up, “I’ve been worrying, too. What if I did the right thing with the whole ‘eat the apple’ business? A demon could get into a lot of trouble for doing the right thing. It’d be funny if we both got it wrong, eh? If I did the good thing and you did the bad one,” he smirked as he looked over at the angel. 

Aziraphale joined Crawly’s laughter, but only for a moment before he caught himself. “No! No. It wouldn’t be funny at all,” he said with a great deal of concern, brows pulled tight as he fidgeted, wringing his hands. It was almost as if Crawly could see the cogs turning in the angel’s mind, fretting over his potential error in judgement.

They didn’t have time to dwell on their potentially flawed decisions though, as water droplets began falling from above, and the Earth saw its first rain storm. Crawly tensed under the first drops and shifted uneasily. He glanced back at the garden briefly, debating on where he could find shelter. Just as he decided to seek out a spot by the infamous apple tree, the rain stopped. 

His brow furrowed when he realized that, no, the rain had not stopped, it had merely stopped falling on him. When he glanced skywards in search of an explanation, his expression softened upon finding a thick, fluffy white wing sheltering him from the rainfall. After a moment’s hesitation, he caved and sidestepped even closer to the angel, reveling in the warmth and dryness that came with their close proximity. It was almost enough to make him forget the dull ache that radiated from his own wings. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1  
This, however, was a personal issue. Crawly had no issue with everyone else’s hips, just his own and their apparent refusal to function as intended.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears! So sorry for the delay, life has picked up a bit these days.  
Also as you may have noticed, this will now be four parts, not three. I'm afraid I've gotten a bit carried away, but as a good friend once told me "never apologize for extra words." So here we go! Let me know what you think. Hopefully part four will be out by the end of the week *fingers crossed*

Over the millennia, the ache faded away, only flaring up every couple centuries or so. Where the pain faded, the evidence of the wounds lingered, both physically and mentally. But no one needed to know that. No one needed to know how weak Crowley truly was behind the expensive clothes, fast car and never-ending fountain of sarcasm and snide remarks that flowed from his lips as easily and naturally as prayers from a priest’s. 

Using his natural charm as a front, Crowley had managed to avoid most comments and questions about his Heavenly origins over the years. Sure, there had been times where a certain earthly angel felt the need to remind him, _ we both started off as angels, although you are Fallen _, which certainly didn’t help Crowley’s residual bitterness. If anything it helped him get a grasp of the art of deflection, which had become immensely useful this past week when he and his angel stood in the bandstand just before the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t.

_ “You were an angel once,” Aziraphale had reminded him rather curtly. _

_ Crowley couldn’t help scowling as he growled back, “ _ That _ was a long time ago.” _

It seemed that Aziraphale was always willing, if not eager, to point out how little they had in common, being an angel and a demon and all, except for when the inverse suited his argument more. They both knew that they had more in common than either of them would care to admit, but that somehow made it hurt just that much more whenever Aziraphale took the time to point out that Crowley was, in fact, a demon.

It’s not that he didn’t already know he was a demon; it’s not exactly something one could easily forget. It was more about the principle of the matter. It was about the way that Aziraphale said it that made his skin crawl. As if Aziraphale were better than him in a context greater than just good versus evil. It made Crowley feel so incredibly small, not that he would never admit to such a thing. The last thing he needed was the angel’s pity.

Crowley kept a lot from Aziraphale under the pretext of avoiding pity or judgement. He didn’t like the vulnerability that was required in order to share his thoughts on such personal matters, so he avoided any potential interactions that could lead to that particular discussion. 6,000 years is an awful long time to keep secrets, but he’d done rather well keeping a lid on his feelings, all things considered. That is, he had managed to do so right up until the night following the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t.

That night, the bus dropped them off outside Crowley’s flat, leaving the driver rather confused as to how he arrived in London when his route was to Oxford. The energy Crowley had expended over the course of the past 24 hours was taking its toll as he sauntered down the hall to his front door. After struggling with his keys for a minute, he simply gave up and just snapped his fingers to unlock the door, letting it swing open.

“I could sleep for a century after today,” he sighed, stretching his back as he crossed the living room.

“I’d really rather you didn’t, my dear,” Aziraphale huffed with a faint frown etched on his face as he closed the door behind them and hung up his coat.

“Why? Would you miss me, angel?” Crowley teased as he shed his jacket and discarded it on the floor by the couch as carelessly as a snake would shed its skin.

Aziraphale pursed his lips as he followed close behind the demon, picking up his jacket and neatly folding it before setting it on the back of the couch. “Well, I just- You see-” the angel floundered to come up with an answer other than his first instinct, which was to say _ of course I would. _ Luckily, he was saved from answering due to the fact that Crowley had now disappeared into one of the rooms off the hall. Aziraphale paused in the doorway, peering in and just watching as Crowley all but slithered over to the large bed in the middle of the room.

The angel hesitated before clearing his throat quietly and shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Well, my dear,” he started, “I think I’ll just make myself a spot of tea. I’ll be just here if you need me.” He offered Crowley a small smile before turning and venturing off to find tea and, hopefully, some reading material a bit more sophisticated than the vapid tabloids piled on Crowley’s coffee table.

By this time Crowley had long stopped paying attention to the angel, instead far too focused on the comfort and warmth that awaited him under the down comforter and soft silk sheets of his bed. G-- Sa-- Someone, he was ready for a nap. The effort of holding the Bentley together through the power of sheer will, preventing the apocalypse, convincing the bus driver to bring them back to London, and keeping himself upright all day drained every last drop of energy he had and now, all he needed was a chance to recuperate. 

Thankfully, sleep overpowered him quickly once he was flopped down on the bed with the sheets halfheartedly pulled up to his chin (yet somehow still only covering half of his body). At the other end of the flat, an angel settled down on an uncomfortably modern couch with a mug of Earl Grey and smiled to himself as he picked up a suspiciously well worn copy of _ Angels and Demons _.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I'm sorry I kinda disappeared for a bit. Classes started again and in addition to that, I've been in a pretty bad state mental health wise so yeah. I know I said this would be 3 parts, then 4, now its going to be 5. I'm not done with the story but I wanted to let you know I haven't forgotten this fic and I promise I'm still working on it! Thank you to everyone that has read and especially to those of you who have commented, tbh you guys are the ones that have convinced me to finish this thing.  
That being said, please please please let me know what you think of this chapter! Comments keep me going <3

_ You mustn’t question the Great Plan. It’s ineffable. _

The words echoed through Crowley’s head in a never-ending loop. The voice was quiet, as if spoken from far, far away, yet the words were so clear. He clenched his jaw as tears welled in the corners of his eyes. 

“But it’s not fair!” he cried. “Why are you doing this to them? They haven’t even had a chance to do anything yet. You can’t punish them for what they haven’t yet done!”

He wasn’t looking to start any trouble, honestly. He just wanted to understand. All he did was ask questions, how could that be so bad? Well clearly it was Bad, for when the words had left his mouth, She just gave him a sad, soft smile and before he knew it, the ground had disappeared from beneath his feet. And suddenly he was falling—no, wait, he was _ Falling _.

He tried to scramble, to save himself, to no avail. Golden eyes blown wide as he cried out desperately, “No! Please no! I-I’m sorry. Did you hear me? I’m sorry, I can be good, _ please _ don’t let me Fall…”

The words died on his lips as he felt the heat and flashes of pain spread across his back and shoulders and eventually it worked its way down his wings. _ Please _ , he begged silently, knowing that She could hear him. _ Please forgive me _.

************************************************************

Aziraphale was just getting to the best part of the book when a bloodcurdling scream tore through the flat. The angel had never gotten to his feet faster, dropping both his book and mug, abandoning them on the living room floor as he took off down the hall. 

“Crowley?!” he cried as he burst through the bedroom door, fully expecting to find the forces of Heaven and Hell torturing his best friend. However he stumbled to an abrupt stop when he took in the scene before him. There were no angels nor any extra demons, just Crowley. 

Crowley, with his back arched to an inhuman degree. Crowley, wound tighter than a spring, shaking like a leaf. Crowley, with sweat and tears coating his face. Crowley, gasping for breath and muttering incoherently between whimpering whines.

It took Aziraphale a full minute to collect himself as he tried to process what he was seeing. Another particularly horrid cry that escaped from Crowley’s lips was enough to snap the angel from his daze. He rushed to the bedside and hesitated before reaching out to lay a hand on the sleeping demon’s shoulder, only to be quickly shoved aside. Crowley recoiled from Aziraphale’s touch as if he’d been burned, jerking upright and scrambling away from the angel as if his life depended on it. 

His eyes were wide but glazed and unfocused as they darted around the room gasping for breath he didn’t need. Aziraphale’s eyebrows knitted together and his lips pursed as he felt the fear radiating off his demonic counterpart. “Crowley, my dear,” he murmured gently, trying to keep the concern that was rising in his chest from seeping into his voice.

Crowley’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice, golden eyes roaming Aziraphale’s familiar features and slowly managing to focus on the angel. “Azzssssiraphale,” Crowley winced at the hiss that slipped from his lips.

Aziraphale visibly relaxed some now that the demon seemed to have rejoined reality. “My dear boy, what happened? Are you alright?”

Crowley frowned and ran a hand through his hair. “‘M fine, angel,” a response which would have been infinitely more convincing if the demon didn’t still have tears coating his cheeks and staining his pillowcase.

“Fine? You really expect me to believe that, my dear, honestly?” Aziraphale tried to keep his voice even but was unable to hide the edge of hysteria that crept into it. 

Crowley took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose as he worked to compose himself. “I sssaid, I’m fine. Go back to your book, angel.” But if Crowley was being honest with himself, he knew that he didn’t sound half as convincing as he would have liked. In fact, he felt just about as far from fine as possible. His voice and demeanor alike expressed exhaustion, anxiety, and even a hint of fear. 

It was the latter that concerned Aziraphale the most and therefore was also what convinced him to move closer to the demon, easing down next to him on the bed. 

“Crowley, my dear,” he started, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on Crowley’s back. “You don’t have to li—“ he was cut off by a low but insistent hiss from the serpent in question. Aziraphale let out a huff tinged with annoyance, “Really, you know better…” but his impending lecture trailed off into oblivion when he looked up at Crowley’s face. The demon was avoiding eye contact at all costs, really not surprising given the absence of his ever-present sunglasses, but what’s more is that his face was taut with every muscle straining against his skin. He shied away from Aziraphale’s touch and haphazardly wiped at his nose with the back of his hand.

Aziraphale quickly pulled his hand away as he watched Crowley with growing concern. It took him a moment to find his voice but when he spoke it was tentative and soft, as if he were afraid of scaring the demon even further. 

“My dear, are you alright?” He knew how ridiculous the question sounded the moment is left his lips because clearly Crowley was decidedly _ not alright _ by any stretch of the imagination. When he was met with nothing more than a quiet sniff and strained breath he tried a different approach. “I can’t make it better if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” he murmured in a low voice, never once allowing his gaze to drift from Crowley’s strained face.

There was another long pause during which Aziraphale feared he would be receiving the silent treatment for the rest of the night, if not the rest of the decade. 

“It hurtssssss,” Crowley rasped as he unconsciously wrapped his arms around himself a bit tighter, shaking hands clutching the fabric of his sleep shirt in a desperate attempt to still them.

“What hurts, my dear boy?” Aziraphale asked gently, watching Crowley carefully and resisting the urge to wrap him in a hug. Aziraphale’s heart shattered at the sound of his whimpered response, “Everything, angel.”

“Whatever do you mean by _ everything,” _ Aziraphale breathed out in a hushed whisper.

“I mean _ everything _! Everything hurts, all the time,” he snapped, finally looking up at the angel in frustration. His golden eyes were rimmed red as they met Aziraphale’s baby blues. Any fire in his voice faded as he continued, “It’ssss always been thisss way, angel. Downstairs they don’t exactly catch you when you Fall.” His voice cracked on the last syllable, betraying his efforts to swallow back the lump in his throat.

Aziraphale’s expression softened exponentially as Crowley’s words sunk in. “Oh, oh my dear,” he murmured, gently cupping Crowley’s cheek and running his thumb along his cheekbone. 

He struggled to find the words to express the thoughts racing through his mind, but it seems that perhaps for the first time ever, the angel was at a complete loss for words. They seemed to have escaped him entirely, with no signs of returning. So he did the only thing that he could and gathered Crowley’s shaking form in his arms and held him.

The demon tensed in his arms momentarily before melting in the warmth of Aziraphale’s embrace. The angel cracked a small smile when Crowley’s arms snaked around his back, pulling the two of them closer together.


End file.
